


The Songs Never Mentioned The Scars

by azulaahai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (or are they), Arranged Marriage AU, F/M, Fluff and Angst, angst with happy ending, i can't write, melodramatic af, post!canon AU, they're TOTALLY married ONLY for political reasons, they're both dorks who are bad at communicating, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 11:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13523151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulaahai/pseuds/azulaahai
Summary: Sansa could hear how naïve it sounded even as she thought it, but the only thing she could think was - not Jon. Jon would never.Jon, her sweet Jon, who's first words to her after their wedding in the godswood had been that Ghost was her wolf now as much as his (which was so adorable and silly that Sansa never failed to smile when she thought about it), who knew exactly what it meant to grow up a bastard - would that man start visiting a brothel without explanation?





	The Songs Never Mentioned The Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> Prompt fill for amymel86: "Jon and Sansa are in an arranged marriage and Sansa finds out that Jon has been leaving WF to visit the brothel in Wintertown a few times. What she doesn't know is that he's there because he's making sure that the Wildling women who now work there aren't being mistreated as he feels responsible for them."

* * *

I: SANSA

Those songs Sansa loved always ended when the war in them did, when the giant was slain and the castle retaken. She'd never heard a song that spoke of how the giant never stopped haunting your nightmares, or how the castle for evermore held ghosts. Her search for guidance in them was therefor fruitless, and more than in a long while, Sansa missed her mother - her soothing words and clever advice.

Lady Catelyn had always known what measures to take, though Sansa was certain her mother would not be too glad at her eldest daughter’s situation had she lived to see it.

 

Sansa would like to think her marriage was not an unhappy one. She was fond of Jon and he of her, and there was a mutual respect, a quiet understanding that stopped the silence that filled most of their time together from becoming uncomfortable.

But there was silence, aye - too much of it. In addition, Sansa had been getting the feeling that her husband was hiding something from her lately - it was subtle, and had she confronted him about it, he'd surely have denied it. But he’d seemed so distant of late. Were they still so broken, had the scars not healed, was it still the war that haunted him?

Perhaps her husband was just burnt out to exhaustion by the workload. The wildling settlements in the Gift kept them all busy. Sansa knew Jon was preoccupied with his duties - by the gods, did she now know the weight of a crown - but he appeared even more burdened lately, stumbling into bed just an hour or two before dawn, and spending more and more of his waking time away from her.

So when the news came, Sansa wasn't as surprised as she might have been, but the revelation still hit her like a punch.

"Are you certain?" she asked aloud. The lady before her curtsied and nodded, looking up at Sansa with glittering, intelligent eyes. She was newly married to a lesser lord sworn to house Stark, and likely eager to gain the queen's trust by being the first one to bring her the news - no matter how disturbing those news were.

"Positive, your grace. My husband saw him, in broad daylight, stepping out of the establishment, as if he didn't care who saw." The lady blushed, and though Sansa knew her embarrassment was likely for show, she admired the girl's acting abilities. She'd fit in King's Landing. "I'm so very sorry to have to tell you this, your grace. But I thought you ought to know." Sansa lowered her eyes, having to gather herself before responding with the proper regality.

"I appreciate you coming to me with this." She wasn't sure she truly did. Sometimes naïve innocence was to prefer over knowledge and a broken heart. "I shall handle this matter in private. I must ask for you to speak of it no more, not to anyone at all, do you understand me?" The girl once more curtsied gracefully.

"Of course, your grace. You can count on my discretion." Sansa wouldn't at all count on that, but there wasn't much to be done since she wasn't about to bribe or scare the girl to silence. Besides, if the things she spoke of were true and Jon continued with this behaviour … there would be no stopping the rumours, then.

She dismissed the girl, and when the chamber door closed and Sansa was alone at last, she closed her eyes, trying to keep the feelings of betrayal and grief that threatened to overwhelm her at bay by analysing the situation as rationally as she could manage.

So.

Her husband had - allegedly, Sansa reminded herself - been visiting a brothel in Wintertown.

Sansa could hear how naïve it sounded even as she thought it, but the only thing she could think was - not Jon. Jon would never. Jon, her sweet Jon, who's first words to her after their wedding in the godswood had been that Ghost was her wolf now as much as his (which was so adorable and silly that Sansa never failed to smile when she thought about it), who knew exactly what it meant to grow up a bastard - would that man start visiting a brothel without explanation?

The thought calmed her. No, he would not. It could not be true. She would not believe it.

Not until she saw it with her own two eyes, Sansa thought, a plan beginning to form in her head.

* * *

To Sansa's fright, an opportunity to put the plan to work presented itself the very next day. Jon was taking his mid-day meal with her and their friends, for once not eating alone in his solar whilst continuing to work. Though he was there in the flesh, his mind seemed to be far away somewhere, and it pinched Sansa's heart to see him so distant.

"Jon?" she asked gently, placing a hand on his arm. Her husband blinked at her, startled.

"Forgive me, my love." His love, now - was she? "I was thinking of something else." Sansa managed a smile.

"I just asked if you'd like to take a ride this afternoon? It's been a while since we rode out together." She wasn't a very fond rider, but she treasured the little explorations of the northern woods Jon took her out on. (Or used to take her out on.)

The moment she uttered the words, her certainty about Jon not being involved began to fade. His face became stern, closed - by the gods, he was hiding something from her.

"I can't this afternoon. I have business in Wintertown." Sansa's heart sank.

"Perhaps I could accompany you there", Sansa said smoothly, hating the pleading streak in her voice but unable to stop herself. She had to know. Had to find out.

"I'm afraid my business would only bore you", Jon said, making Sam - who was seated at his other side - look up from his meal with a surprised look upon his face. Jon wasn't usually so dismissive about Sansa's role in the rule of the North, both of them careful to put up a united front even in matters where they disagreed. Sansa's cheeks heated from embarrassment and anger. Anger was good, she thought - made it easier to push other feelings aside and focus on her goal.

To find out the truth.

* * *

"We should not be here, your grace", Brienne said nervously, looking around with a hand on the hilt of her sword. "It is a bad part of town."

"We'll go back to the castle soon", Sansa assured her, trying to hide the fact that she too felt a little nervous. "And don't call me your grace", she added in a whisper. "I'm Salys now, remember?" Brienne scowled, but nodded.

They walked down the street, Sansa keeping her head down and hoping the black hood she wore covered most of her features. A northerner recognising their queen now could quickly become awkward - and potentially dangerous.

Embarrassed, but lost, she had to stop and ask for directions, not looking into the eyes of the woman who with a grin pointed down the street. Brienne followed as Sansa hurried down the street, feeling like quite the spy as she spotted the sign marking the brothel - she stopped by a street-corner a few houses away, the allyway before her deserted.

As good a place as any, she thought, nodding to Brienne as she took a few steps forward before she stopped, attempting to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

Now, they could only wait.

* * *

They had been there for an hour or so, repeatedly been mistaken for women of the street (which was rather ironic, considering why they were here) and been soaked through by the gentle spring rain that had begun falling, and Sansa was just about to give up and ask Brienne to take her back home, when the street’s atmosphere suddenly shifted to one of delighted shock - the very air seemed to quake with the gossip that was to come.

For stepping out from the brothel - in broad daylight, just as the lady had claimed, walking towards his horse without even attempting to conceal his identity - was none other than the king in the North himself.

* * *

PART II: JON

Sansa hadn’t come down for supper that evening.

He’d been told his wife had a headache and was resting, but Gilly had refused to look him in the eyes as she said it, making Jon rather puzzled. His confusion only increased when he, after a rather awkward dinner during which no one seemed very talkative, found the door to his and Sansa’s shared bedchamber locked.

He knocked.

 

No reply.

“Uhm, Sansa?” he called out gently. Perhaps she was asleep. Had she locked the door by accident? “My love?” Still no reply, but now he heard movement on the other side of the door. He knocked again, irrational worry - never far from him since the war - making him tense. Silly visions of southern assassins or wild beasts having broken in flashed before his eyes.

“Sansa? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jon”, she answered him, at last. “Just ... you can sleep in your old chambers tonight.” Something about her tone was off. What in all the seven hells was going on?

“Of course I can, if you need me to”, he replied. “Do you need me to send for Sam?” 

“No. I am well. Just leave me be.” Still, he hesitated. Her voice was strangely muffled, sounding almost as if she’d been weeping. Something was wrong. 

“Sansa”, he said, frustrated. “What’s the matter?”

No answer.

“Would you open the door, love?” he tried again. 

To his surprise, she did so.

Jon wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the sight that greeted him. Sansa was still dressed in her dark-blue gown, her hair hanging loosely, messily. Her eyes were reddened from crying, making Jon’s heart ache, but that wasn’t what took him by surprise - it was the rage in them. 

Sansa was furious. 

“What...” Jon began, but Sansa stopped him by abruptly stepping aside, a rather hostile invite for him to enter. He did, and she shut the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

“Sansa. What is going on?” He was getting desperate. 

“You tell me”, Sansa replied in a low voice. Remembering her curtesies, even when she was so obviously enraged. “You tell me what in all the seven hells” - Jon was startled to hear her curse - Sansa never cursed - “you were doing at the Wintertown brothel.”

Stupified, Jon stared at her. There were several things he could not believe about the situation - the fact that Sansa had just used the word ‘brothel’, the fact she’d even found out, the fact she’d been crying over him - and most importanly, how big a fool he’d been.

* * *

III: SANSA

He looked absolutely mortified at her words, and for a second Sansa’s heart broke all over again. It was true, then, and he wasn’t even going to explain himself, it seemed.

But then he spoke, startled, rushing through the words so quickly Sansa could barely keep up.

 

”Sansa, love, no – that's not at all what – I don't think you realise -”

 

”Do you deny it?” she asked quietly, hating her voice for breaking. ”I saw you, with my own eyes, stepping out of that brothel. I dare you to look me in the eyes and deny it.”

 

”Sansa”, he said, again grasping for words. ”I don't deny being at that brothel, no -”

 

”Then go. I don't want you here.” She turned away from him in a vain attempt to save face and gather herself without his eyes drilling into hers.

 

”Sansa”, he said again. ”Sansa. That brothel – there are wildling women working there.”

 

“I don't want to know”, she snarled.

 

“That's – not like that! I just – I learned they'd been coming to Wintertown and that some of them had turned to the brothels …” Jon looked away, clearly embarrassed. “I – I don't want to shock you, my love -” Sansa rolled her eyes. Once, a million years ago, she might have objected to him speaking of such matters to her, but she was a woman grown, wed and bed, war-torn and strong. 

 

She could hear of a brothel. Aspecially one it seemed her husband frequented.

 

“- but several wildling women has started working on that brothel,” Jon continued, still rambling, “and – I wanted to make sure that they were looked after, is all. That the brothel keep didn't see it as an opportunity to take advantage of the wildlings being new to town.”

 

Finally, he stopped for a breath, looking up at her with sadness in his eyes.

 

“I didn't – I'd never touch anyone, of course.” He lowered his voice, straightening his back. “No one but you.”

 

“Jon”, she said. “I'm not a fool, nor am I nearly as frail as you clearly think me. If you ...” She looked down at the floor, the words stuck in her throat. “I – there's no need to make up stories for me. If you'd … I mean, if you've ever …” She trailed off again. By the gods, they were hopeless at this, weren’t they? “I'd just want to know.” It came out nearly a whisper.

 

“Sansa”, he pleaded. “I swear to you. I ... There’s only you.”

Then - in a voice so low Sansa barely heard, softly - he said the three words Sansa’d been waiting to hear. Three words they’d been tiptoeing around - ‘my love’, he called her, ‘lovely’ sometimes, but at no point during their marriage had he uttered those three words aloud - 

\- three words that changed everything.

* * *

IV: BRIENNE

“You’re going to Wintertown, your grace? Again?” Brienne asked, glancing down the table at Jon, who had looked particularly infatuated with his wife this morning, smiling sheepishly towards Sansa more than once as they broke their fast. Sansa, too, seemed more chipper than usual, returning Jon’s smiles with almost girlish giggles. 

Brienne was glad of it, of course - they must have worked out the issues of yesterday - though she still found it hard to forgive so grave an insult to lady Sansa as the one Jon had inflicted upon her yesterday. _There must be something I don’t know, otherwise they wouldn’t be so upbeat._

“Yes”, queen Sansa replied to her question, eyes glittering. Then, in a lower voice - “But you needn’t come with me, this time. I am accompanying Jon on a supervision of the working conditions of wildlings in Wintertown.”


End file.
